The Last Arabesque
by AJarOfDirt
Summary: “What do you see in me?” he desperately asked her. “You are still one of the best things that has ever happened in my life, Draco.” *DMHG*


**The Last Arabesque**

Her voice was raspy as she gasped to speak – as though she hadn't used it in a long time. It roughly scraped against the walls of her throat, which made it utterly harrowing to endure. From where she stood, she could see the emptiness in those icy silver orbs he had for eyes – they were exactly like thin glass, and she witnessed his troubles like a motion picture every time she looked into them.

His long legs were stretched out as he lay on the burgundy velvet chaise longue in his sitting room, seemingly tuning out her whispers. Those expressionless eyes of his were fixed on the roaring fireplace. The mother-of-pearl marble of the mantle glowed eerily as it reflected the flames that licked the terra cotta clay bricks that led up to the chimney. It was the only sense of warmth in the entire room. The chamber was otherwise cloaked in absolute darkness.

"Draco," she murmured as she carefully approached the recliner. Her footsteps barely made any noise over the smooth, polished bistre parquet, and her wisteria night robes swished around the movement of her slender legs.

"What?" he questioned almost unfeelingly. He was absentmindedly twirling a silver goblet of Firewhisky in his hand, although he had taken not a single sip. The chalice danced precariously in his hand and Hermione was fearful it would slide out of his grasp. On impulse, she quickly made her way to Draco's side and eased the cup from his hands. He gave her a pointed look in return, however that was all he did as she slowly retreated to her original spot, placing the glass on a small table in the corner of the room in the process.

"I'm sure you're here for a reason," he drawled out, his head falling back against the cushions propped up on the backrest of the upholstered couch. "So what is it?"

"I was wondering when you would be coming to bed."

Draco's glass eyes swivelled in their sockets as he turned to face Hermione. His features were all but sardonic and careless though. "What?"

This time, his tone was slightly surprising. It sounded strained, as though he could not believe what Hermione had said not a minute ago.

"I said," she sighed, "I was wondering when you'd be going to bed. I've noticed you've in here all hours for the past few days, hardly getting any sleep at all. It's not healthy, Draco. You're making me worry."

_If you only knew what's really going on,_ he thought sadly.

His eyebrows rose slightly before knitting themselves. The corners of his lips twisted further into his frown, but it wasn't one of anger – not even one of simple annoyance.

"I, uh," Draco struggled to get his words out, "I'll be up shortly. You don't have to wait, you know."

"It's not a question of whether or not I _have_ to," Hermione replied as she drew near to him once more. She placed her icy hands on his shoulders, running them over his shoulder blades. "I _want_ to."

Draco's gaze never left the hearth before him, but his own chilly hand trailed up to Hermione's and their fingers entwined. He inattentively ran his thumbs over the top of her hand, bringing her fingertips to his cold pale lips and kissing them lightly. She ran them over his hollowed cheeks, tracing shapes across his cheekbones and down his nose bridge. Her touch was feather-light and he shut his eyes, trying with all his might to capture such sweet contact in his memory. Tears began to well up and he quickly pulled away from her caress.

"Draco?" Hermione asked, the alarm thickly coating her speech. "Is everything all right?"

"I-it's nothing," Draco stammered. He tried to give her hand a reassuring pat, but he still could not look her in the eye as he spoke. "Go up to bed, love. I'll join you soon."

* * *

Once he was completely sure Hermione had left, Draco allowed the floodgates that were his eyelids to open as a river of tears fully soaked his face. His jaw quivered and his mouth was still curled in a gesture of unreserved sorrow. Carefully rolling up the right sleeve of his forest green bed clothes, he stared resentfully at the symbol stamped across his whitish forearm. A great fat skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth, it was no ordinary tattoo. It was slightly raised on his skin – almost like a scab – and he distinctly remembered the pain it took for the imprint to be made. Such a foolish act it had been, Draco now decided. He had such an immense thirst to prove his merit to the Dark Lord, but at that point, he was wondering how much of his choice had been worth it.

So he belonged somewhere, so he was part of the club now – didn't she already accept him before he sold himself? Draco knew perfectly well that if Hermione ever found out about it, her disappointment would be the most unbearable thing to witness. He did not even care if she killed him upon the knowledge of his deed. However, it would be completely torturous to endure a look of sheer regret across her features. Regret that she had ever associated herself with a monster such as him.

That very revelation had been the source of the troubles Draco had been facing. There were demons that plagued him – things he could not exorcise. He had to make a choice once again, and even those were limited. 'The Right Thing' was always so subjective anyway. He would be betraying his father if he left the Death Eaters. Yet if he stayed, he would lose the only person who had given him the real experience of deep love. Draco was besieged. He had no more sense of his morals – or what he felt his morals _should_ be. He was like the gladiator that voracious lions stalked in an arena of blood and sand. Those creatures would eagerly devour him in a second if given the chance – if he let them. He had to escape through the cage door or he could be maimed within. This resolution had to be made before the door shut itself, though.

The minute hand of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck midnight. Draco sighed as he heaved himself up from the chaise longue, rolling his sleeves back down in the process. He extracted an embroidered silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face dry, and made his way across the long antechamber towards the bedroom. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribcage, his guilt eating him whole. Draco walked slowly, almost cautiously, and every step he took made no noise across the polished hardwood panelled floors. The only sounds were those of his inhales and exhales, and even those were infrequent.

_This is it,_ he thought as he stood mere inches from the massive white double doors, his hand resting nimbly on the solid gold knob. _Decide now._

The door hinges were well-oiled and didn't creak – something Draco was grateful for. It did not interrupt the peaceful slumber Hermione had succumbed to. He deftly shut the door behind him, nearly gliding towards the empty half of the king-sized four-poster clad in brocaded cordovan sheets. The mattress sunk with Draco's weight as he sat down, however Hermione did not stir. He had his back towards her, unable to bring himself to properly look at her. Tears flowed afresh on the plains of his cheeks as he hastily swiped at them with his kerchief once more. Quiet sobs wracked his body despite his efforts to swallow them all. Draco buried his face in the palms of his hands and his shoulders began to shake. As much as he tried to remain in control, he was spiralling outward as the tempest that raged on in his heart started to show.

Draco barely registered any movement from Hermione's side of the bed. She slowly sat up and looked over to where he perched on the edge. She watched as he slid himself down to the luminous wood paneling and witnessed his breakdown with a wrenched heart. She did not want to scare him with sudden movements, and carefully crawled towards him. Hermione lay on her stomach as her arms glissaded around Draco's neck gently. His shock was evident in his expression as he scrambled to put himself back together at the slightest grace of her skin against his.

"H-Hermione," he stuttered, sniffling. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Draco frantically wiped his face to remove the evidence of his sorrow, although little good it did. Hermione had finally seen him break down completely. However, the interrogation he expected to receive from her never came. She simply sat up properly and tried her best to haul him back onto the bed. She then picked up her wand from the bedside table and muttered, "_Accio_ tea set."

It took several minutes, but the porcelain china she had Summoned eventually flew to the bed from the kitchen. Draco watched in silence as Hermione noiselessly made tea for him, eventually handing him a dainty cup. He took a tentative sip of the piping hot drink, only to realise it was exactly the way he liked it. Draco cast a sideways glance Hermione's way. She was busy fixing a cup for herself and paid him no mind. Once she was done, though, he had her full attention.

"What's on your mind?"

Her fingers were then tangled in his white blond locks. They twirled themselves around a few strands gently in an affectionate nod.

Draco said nothing in response for several moments. His heart was still in conflict with his mind and he had no idea if anything was for the best. On its own accord, his left hand started to scratch at his right forearm, although he made no move to lift his sleeve to show her the Dark Mark. Hermione, whose eyes were fixed to his long, pointed face, didn't seem to notice his small action as anything out of the ordinary.

"You know you can tell me," she whispered as she continued to stroke his hair tenderly.

He was afraid to look her in the eye. He was scared that once he did, it would reveal everything at the wrong time. So instead, when he turned to face her, he let his eyes wander elsewhere rather than those inviting hazel eyes so full of warmth and comfort. He let his gaze scan the rest of her face. Draco lifted his hand and ran it over her features – her lips, her jaw, her brow bone – all of which seemed perfect. All too perfect for him to deserve.

He squeezed his eyes shut as though in pure agony. He could feel her breath quicken against his exposed neck.

"Draco, don't you trust me?" Hermione questioned, obviously hurt that he would not divulge anything to her.

"I-It's complicated-"

"But you can tell me anyway," she attested. "If it's some sort of problem, I'll help you solve it. Just don't close yourself off from me. I- I need you. Don't leave me."

Immediately, the tense muscles around Draco's temples relaxed and the veil of his eyelids flew open to look at her. Hermione had tears clouding her beautiful hazels threatening to spill. They were just brimming over her long lashes as she stared at him pleadingly. She was gnawing at her bottom lip in trepidation as to how he would react.

It took every ounce of his being to force his own tears back down as Draco put his teacup down on the bedside table. Cupping Hermione's face in his cold palms, he softly covered her lips with his, and for a few moments, he could forget all his problems. He could forget his father; he could forget his promise to the Dark Lord. The only thing that mattered to him was the person before him. Draco let his thumbs trace circles over her throat and his tongue slipped within the confines of her lips. Hermione's arms wrapped around his torso as she gripped at the back of his robes and Draco pushed her against the headboard of the bed.

They only stopped to catch their breaths and it was only then did Draco realised he had been crying throughout. It was his turn to appear beseeching – to be struck as one in need of somebody to save him. Exhaustion was tugging at his conscience as remorse unremittingly feasted on his weary heart. It was a feeling worse than when one was Splinched.

"What do you see in me?" he desperately asked her.

"Draco-"

"Just answer me!" he burst out. "Please," he added in an afterthought.

Hermione exhaled heavily as she thought about it for awhile. "The truth?" she finally spoke. "A lonely boy who lives a life out of touch of love. We're complete opposites in every way, and we used to be at loggerheads with each other. I stand by my word back in third year when I called you a vile, loathsome, evil little cockroach because honestly that's what you sometimes are. But I never expected you to be perfect. You are still one of the best things that has ever happened in my life."

Her cheeks flushed a slight pink and she went back to chewing on her lip as she awaited his reply. His expression had become difficult to read, and he seemed to study her good and hard. Finally, he himself heaved a huge sigh.

"There's something I think you should know."

* * *

**A/N:** Before anyone goes "CLIFFHANGER!" at the end, the story actually really ends here (it was the way that was mapped out anyway) and I have no real plans to continue this. I was inspired to write this after listening to _Courage, Robert_ by Meg & Dia. Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.


End file.
